


Prophet and Liberator

by dryadgrl13



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Issues, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating will go up eventually, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 19:51:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11630703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryadgrl13/pseuds/dryadgrl13
Summary: "If anyone asked Caldwell Elias Trevelyan, second son of Donovan and Yvette Trevelyan, if he was a brave little boy, he would tell them no. He most assuredly was not, which was why his friendship with Brianne was such a surprising development."A companion piece for my Enchanter Brianne series (although I am writing this story so that it can stand on its own). A collection of oneshots set in the same universe, following the life of Inquisitor Trevelyan. Chapters 1-16 will match the events as they unfold in the story "Of Victory Waiting, Yet to Be Claimed."





	1. His Aegis, His Shield-Brother

**Author's Note:**

> “Maferath's heart grew cold  
> As he looked upon the field of the dead and heard  
> The chant of "Glory! Glory! Glory! Hail to the Maker  
> Most High! Hail to Andraste, Prophet and liberator,  
> Light of the world! Look upon our work, O Maker, and rejoice!"  
> \--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, The Aftermath of Valerian Fields

“And Maferath forsook the celebrations of his people  
And went apart, taking not even his Aegis, his shield-brother.”  
\--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, The Aftermath of the Valerian Fields

Caldwell Elias Trevelyan was not a brave boy. Not like his brother was, nor his father or his mother. 

He hid underneath coal-warmed sheets during thunderstorms. He cried when splinters were pulled from his fingers after climbing the apple tree in the garden. He cowered underneath his mother’s favorite chaise whenever she began fighting with his father, their words sharper and more painful than the glass of the broken mirror in his father’s private study.

When he was very little, his brother would go out of his way to comfort him. Caspian always knew exactly what to say or do to help Caldwell not be so afraid. Cas was the one that warmed the bedcovers by the coals in the fireplace before climbing under the sheets with his trembling baby brother. Cas was the one that held Caldwell still and distracted him as their mother picked out apple-bark splinters with her delicate tweezers. Cas was the one that coaxed Caldwell out from underneath furniture, leading him outside to play in the sun and forget for a while that their parents were nobles, that _they_ were nobles, and that all they could hope for in marriage was not to loathe their partner too much. 

If anyone asked Caldwell Elias Trevelyan, second son of Donovan and Yvette Trevelyan, if he was a brave little boy, he would tell them no. He most assuredly was not, which was why his friendship with Brianne was such a surprising development.

The night she appeared in their house was one that Caldwell would never forget. Caspian had fallen ill that morning, and his symptoms has only worsened throughout the day. Caldwell didn’t remember how his brother had gotten pneumonia, but he does remember standing vigil outside of Cas’ door all day long, certain that his brother was not long for this world. Caldwell couldn’t stop thinking about how he would have to learn how to live without his brother, his savior, his strength. He created vivid images in his mind about what the world would be like without Caspian in it, and he cried like a banshee heralding his brother’s end for all the city to hear and mourn.

His mother and father did not share his fears. It was well into the evening before his mother gave in to her youngest son’s wailing and convinced her husband to send for help. Caldwell was then banished to his room, seeing as he was unable to comport himself in a calm and civilized manner, in light of guests soon coming to the house to see to his brother.

Half an hour later, standing in the hallway outside of his own bedroom, Caldwell was stunned by the girl who boldly walked over to him and offered her greetings. He was the son of a lord of Ostwick, in his home, in his nightclothes, and the healer’s daughter wanted to shake hands like they were merchants on a street corner. What nerve!

And what courage.

He was frightened when he found out she was a mage (might be a mage. Could be a mage. Who knows? Not her. Not yet), but for the first time he was able to set aside his fears on his own when he saw that Enchanter Nolin was her father. Caldwell liked him. The man was soft-spoken and kind, patient and careful: everything Donovan Trevelyan wasn’t. Caldwell loved his father, but it was as if he had another one sometimes, whenever he wasn’t feeling well. The second one got along well with the first, and always had a smile and an encouraging word ready for his sometimes son. 

Caldwell was certain that Brianne must be good people if Nolin was her father. In a fit of courage unlike any he’d had before, Caldwell asked Brianne to come back to the house sometime. He wanted someone else to play with, and she, it seemed, wanted to learn how to play chess (what a dreadful game, but he’d learn it if it meant he would see her again). Caldwell only hoped that he could talk his parents into letting it happen.

It turned out that he didn’t have to talk his parents into anything. They were thrilled to have Brianne come over as often as she liked. His mother said it would be good practice were their third child to be a girl. His father said that his sons needed to learn how to act in the presence of ladies (Brianne wasn’t a lady, she was a girl!) and that it would strengthen Trevelyan ties with both the Chantry and the Circle. Caldwell was to be commended for his shrewd thinking and quick reflexes.

Cal just really wanted a friend other than his brother.

Praise be to the Maker, Annie was certainly that friend. 

******************** 

“Young Master Trevelyan, you cannot move the knight in that direction. It moves in a four-square L, not a five-square.”

Professore Rossi’s words were barely decipherable through his thick, Antivan accent. It was never too difficult for Cal to make out what the man was saying, as he was used to the way his mother shaped her vowels and consonants. Despite the exposure the brothers had to the Anitivan dialect, Caspian always seemed to have a harder time figuring out what their tutor was saying from one minute to the next. Right now was one of those moments, as Annie had to lean over the chessboard and demonstrate what the Professore meant by ‘four-square L’ by picking up the knight Cas had moved and hopping it back to the spot it had come from.

Caldwell could see Cas fighting off embarrassment as he frowned down at his black chess pieces and balled his hands into fists under the table. Cal wanted to comfort his brother, but he knew it wouldn’t be appreciated, so he stayed where he was, sprawled out on the bench by the fountain. It was early enough that the sun hadn’t made the gardens too hot, and Caldwell itched to upend the stupid table where his best friend and brother were practicing the stupid board game and demand that everyone come play something that was actually fun. 

But he couldn’t do that. The thought of the tongue lashing he’d receive in a mixture of irate Common and Antivan from his tutor was enough to dissuade him, let alone the punishment he’d receive from his parents. Trevelyans acted with grace and dignity at all times. The son of the most powerful house in Ostwick would not throw tables around just because he was feeling bored and left out.

Sometimes Caldwell wondered if Annie could read his mind. She always seemed to know when he needed something. Professore was speaking of chess maneuvers in the clipped, irritated tone he always used when talking to Brianne, but she was looking at Cal. The corner of her mouth turned up in a hidden smile, and she crossed her eyes quickly before fixing them and looking up innocently at Rossi as though she’d been listening attentively the whole time. 

That made Cas glance over at him as well. Caldwell stuck his tongue out, which earned a giggle from Annie. Instead of continuing with the game, Cas called out to him. “Aren’t you bored over there watching us?”

“Young Master Caldwell is always welcome to join us in our strategy lessons,” their tutor responded primly. Cal scrunched his nose and let loose a long, loud _bleh_. Annie giggled again, which caused the Professore to launch into his lecture on the merits of chess strategies and their applications to the larger Game which all noble families must play, whether they want to or not. If Young Master Caldwell does not learn how to do these things well, then he will most assuredly bring ruin to both his name and his House.

“Rossi...” his father’s loud and energetic voice boomed from the open archway that connected the solar to the gardens. “The boy’s six years old, for the Maker’s sake. I don’t think he’ll disgrace us out of our box seats at this year’s Tourney, do you?” 

His mother’s laughter floated around his father’s form. Cal saw her hands appear on either side of his father’s hips and watched as his father shifted his weight to accommodate his wife leaning forward against the expanse of his back. 

This past half year has been wonderful. Ever since his mother told everyone she was pregnant, his parents have been so happy. They touch each other more than he’s ever seen. They sit next to each other at the table, stand together at parties, and smile at each other when no one is watching and they don’t really have to. Caldwell already loves his little brother or sister simply for what they’ve already done for their parents. Caldwell can’t wait to meet his younger sibling, and hopes that all this happiness never goes away.

He’ll make sure they don’t get stuck learning how to play stupid games with stupid tutors when the sun is shining and there’s so much fun to be had.

Professore back peddled quickly, apologizing to everyone except the one person he should. Annie and Cas turned back to the chess match, and Caldwell huffed and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. 

Looking around the walled-off garden, he spotted his wooden practice sword and stalked over to it.

Positioning himself on an open stretch of lawn that’s covered in shade, Cal started moving through the warm-up Ser Eduards taught him. The first time Annie’s mother had dropped her off, Cal had been intimidated by her. The woman looked like Annie, but she didn’t smile. She left her daughter in the foyer with a curt nod to Cal and a brief but respectful address to his parents. Every time since, though, Ser Eduards has stayed longer and longer. A few evenings ago, she even accepted a nightcap with his parents in their receiving room, and Annie got to stay for another hour longer than expected.

Caldwell had been given his wooden practice sword for his sixth birthday. It was then that his father spoke to him of his future. If everything goes according to his father’s plan, Cal will be made some famous Chevalier’s squire when he’s old enough. Who the honored Chevalier will be changes yearly, it seems. It’s of no consequence to Cal who he’ll be squired to. As long as he gets to train, and fight, and be the best swordsman the world’s ever seen, he’ll be happy. 

Even though his father made a production of giving Cal the practice sword and painting a beautiful and shining picture of his future, no one had shown him how to use the blasted thing. Until Annie’s mother, that is. A week ago, Ser Eduards saw him wildly swinging his sword at one of the bushes lining the garden wall and immediately approached him. 

He almost dropped his sword when she showed him the proper way to hold it. He embarrassed himself by tripping over his own feet when she walked him through a simple warm-up routine. Unused to the weight and balance of the sword when held correctly, he accidentally smacked himself in the shoulder while trying to practice parrying. It took a while before he got the footwork right, and even longer before he was truly comfortable with the arm motions. Being a Chevalier was going to be harder than he thought.

By the end of the lesson, a crowd of household servants had gathered round to watch them, along with his family. Ser Eduards was smiling at him as though he’d done something worthwhile, and in a moment of exhaustion he told her that she was as pretty as her daughter. 

The Maker did not strike him down, even though he asked him to nicely, and Ser Eduards simply squeezed his shoulder and told his mother that he was going to be a heart-breaker one day. Which was ridiculous. Cal wanted to be a Chevalier to help people, not hurt them. Oh, and to fight things and be famous. He could accomplish all of that without too much trouble, he was certain. 

Caldwell hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, lost in his memories as he was, so he jumped and yelled when his brother stabbed him in the side with a long tree branch. Their tutor yelled at them about sportsmanship and honor, while Annie laughed and cheered them on, and the brothers fought their mock battle in the sunshine and safety of their home.


	2. Guarded In Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind the scenes of the day that Nolin Lochland died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Italian I’ve written is based off of Google Translate and several websites claiming accurate info. concerning Italian slang/idioms/colloquial phrasing. Please let me know if any of it’s incorrect or inappropriate.

The afternoon and evening of the day of Caldwell’s accident flew by in a blur of anxious family members and insincere political rivals. He was bustled from the garden to inside the house, placed on the floral settee in the main receiving room, then forced to waste the day away while a parade of people marched past him, his mother, and father. Caspian had been banished to his room, along with their tutor, and Caldwell spent the entire time fuming over the luck of his brother.

The youngest Trevelyan didn’t understand why everyone was making such a fuss over him falling out of a tree. It has just been a game, and he had made a stupid mistake. It was Caspian’s fault, really, for insinuating that Caldwell couldn’t climb as high as he could. Everything had turned out alright in the end, especially after Annie healed him. That had been a strange thing. He remembered lying in the dirt, and being cold and in pain. The pain had doubled for a moment, and then all of a sudden he had been wrapped in a warm blanket. Everything had felt better. Better than better. He had opened his eyes to thank his brother for helping him fight off the cold, but instead had watched as Annie’s glowing form was pulled away from him and into her father’s arms. 

Now he was stuck nodding and smiling at his cousin twice removed as they gushed over how glad they were that the littlest Trevelyan had walked away from today’s debacle with his life intact. The cousin and his family shuffled down the line of well-wishers and were replaced with a lady that Caldwell didn’t recognize (who was wearing far too much rouge) who spent several minutes pontificating on the evils of keeping company with mages and their families.

Caldwell opened his mouth to remind the mean lady that none of what had happened had been Annie’s fault, but shut it quickly when his mother pinched him in the side. Her hand had been resting along his back for the past half hour, so it was easy for her to slip it down his side and interrupt his indignant outburst with a sharp correction. 

Just as the sun was setting and shining its fading light through the stained glass windows, all the family members and courtiers evacuated the Trevelyan Manor, and Caldwell was finally left in peace. Curling up instinctively into his mother’s side (something he hadn’t been allowed to do for some time. Seven year-old boys were too old for hiding behind their mother’s skirts), Caldwell closed his eyes for what seemed like only a moment, and then was abruptly woken by his father’s large hand shaking his shoulder. Caspian was standing next to their father with his chin tucked into his chest. Caldwell was hefted to his feet to stand next to his brother, and their father took Caldwell’s place on the settee next to their mother. 

Both parents looked at their children sternly. Caldwell and Caspian waited in silence for someone to say something. When it was clear that they were expected to make the first move, Caspian folded even farther into himself and whispered a soft apology into the fold of his tunic.

“What were you boys thinking?” Donovan asked harshly.

Cas began talking a mile a minute, his voice transitioning quickly from quiet humiliation to vibrant indignation. “We were just playing tag and Cal got mad that he couldn’t get me in the tree even though he got Annie and we told him to get down but he wouldn’t listen ‘cause he wanted Annie to…”

“Did not!” Caldwell shouted, unsure of what, exactly, he was denying, but certain that he wanted his brother to stop talking.

“Calm yourself, _cucciolo,_ ” their mother said to Caspian, who immediately hung his head again. “Caldwell, _luce dei miei occhi,_ swear to us that you will never do a thing like that again.”

“Sì, Mamma,” the youngest Trevelyan promised. He looked over at his father, who nodded in acknowledgement of his vow.

“And Caspian. You will never, _ever_ again strike out at an unarmed person. Do you understand?”

“But Mamma, she wasn’t...” Caspian tried to explain, but this time their father interrupted him.

“No! You are a Trevelyan. The heir to this House. You will not shove little girls just because you are frightened. You will not lash out at _anyone_ in anger. That is not how problems are solved, son. You must never take action until you’ve used exhausted your words.” Their father’s hand made it’s way to their mother’s, nestled as it was in the folds of her dress. He laced their fingers together, and she smiled at him fondly. “If I ever see you act so dishonorably again, I will have to rethink the private lessons I had promised you.” 

Caspian’s eyes bulged and his face turned red from fighting against the instinct to plead with their father. When Donovan was this upset, and giving those kind of ultimatums, arguing and begging were fruitless acts. Caldwell felt a surge of glee at his father’s disapproving tone. Caldwell hadn’t known that Cas had done anything bad to Annie. He would have to pay his brother back for that later, when their parents weren’t around. 

“Mamma?” Caldwell called tentatively. “Why didn’t you let me tell the mean lady she was wrong?”

His mother blinked at him slowly for a moment as she tried to figure out what he was referencing, but her face cleared when she realized what he meant. “We have talked about his before. Do you remember? Some people in this world have ideas you will not agree with, yes? Their minds cannot be changed, no matter how reasonable you are when you speak to them.”

“But I didn’t even get to try,” Caldwell complained, making his mother laugh and shake her head affectionately.

“ _Mi dispiace, la mia luce._ Soon you will be taught how to guard your words carefully; to speak so that whomever you want to listen, will. Even chevalier’s need to learn how to speak the riddles of the Game.”

Caldwell frowned at his mother, but went willingly into her open arms to receive a soft kiss on his forehead. She did the same to Caspian, and then both parents rose from the settee to collect a plate for the food that had magically appeared along the sideboard while the children had received their dressing-down. 

The family ate their small dinner in comfortable silence. Right as everyone was finishing their last bites, a servant silently slid through the door to whisper something in their father’s ear. Lord Trevelyan nodded to the servant, dabbed his mouth clean with his napkin, and pushed away from the table. Their mother lifted a single eyebrow in question, which was answered with a wordless shrug of their father’s broad shoulders as he vanished through the door that opened to the hallway for the main foyer. 

“Mamma?” Caldwell called to her from across the table. “Can Annie come over again tomorrow?”

Caspian choked on the sip of water he had been taking. A servant materialized from the the shadowed corner of the room to assist him, but Lady Trevelyan waved the girl off. Instead, she rose from her seat to come around the table and sit in between her two boys. She rubbed a soothing hand along Cas’ back as he spluttered. “I don’t think that is wise. Besides...” her face turned sad as she cut off his argument. “She will be in the Tower tomorrow, and I do not think they will let her leave for some time.” “Oh.” Caldwell hadn’t thought of that. His stomach clenched and threatened to purge all the food he had just eaten. Annie was a mage now. A real one, not just a girl tagging along with her father, pretending to be the kind of healer that he was. She was going to be stuck in the Tower forever, and he would never get to see her again.

No. That wasn’t true. Enchanter Nolin got to travel all over Ostwick and beyond. He got to live at home with his family. Surely the Circle would let his daughter stay at home? She had an Enchanter for a father and a Knight-Captain for a mother. They could both keep her safe and teach her what she needed to know, right? It couldn’t be that Caldwell had lost his best friend forever. It couldn’t. 

“What’s wrong, _mia luce_?”

“I…” Caldwell tried to hold back his tears, but his eyes misted over without his permission as he tried to answer his mother’s question. “She’ gonna be in the Tower, and I can’t say thank you, and Cas can’t apologize for being mean, and I gotta say thank you cause she fixed it! And who will play with me when Cas won’t and who’s gonna help her papà when he goes out to heal and…” 

“Caldwell,” his mother interrupted him again by pulling him closer to her side while still in his chair. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see. We must be patient, just as Brianne _e la sua famiglia_ must be.” His mother squeezed his shoulder and he tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes on the sleeve of her dress. “You will see Brianne again, but it may not be for a while. _Pazienza, la mia luce._ Let us all practice patience.” 

“We could take her a gift,” Caspian said to his brother around their mother’s form. “Like when someone moves into the city and all the Houses send someone to welcome them. It could be like that. Then you could see how she’s doing and say what you want to say.”

Caldwell looked over at his brother and was surprised by Cas’ earnest expression. Maybe he really was sorry for being mean to Annie. That still wasn’t getting him out of paying for what he did earlier. Their mother smiled at both her boys and began talking about what kind of present would be appropriate for a young mage newly moved to the Circle Tower.

They had almost decided on a gift when Donovan came striding back into the room. Interrupting their conversation, he gently took hold of his wife’s arm and helped her stand. They walked a few steps away from the table to have a feverishly whispered exchange. Yvette nodded frantically and practically shoved her husband away from her. He didn’t seem to mind though, and used the momentum to propel himself from the room. Caldwell heard a large door slam shut a few seconds later, a door that sounded like the one for the manor’s main entrance and exit.

“What’s going on, Mamma?” Caspian asked.

“The Teyrn has called for your papà to attend an emergency meeting for the city. I do not know the particulars. I am sure he will tell us when he returns. Come, let us get ready for bed.” 

The boys followed their mother down the hallway and bid her goodnight before going into their respective bedrooms. Within minutes Caldwell was dressed in his night clothes and tucked into his large, four poster bed. Although he was comfortable, sleep eluded him for hours. Right as he was finally nodding off, he thought he heard the sound of several doors slamming shut. Blinking awake, he slipped out of bed and softly tread down the hallway. The meeting must have gone poorly if his father was slamming doors as he returned home. Caldwell’s curiosity got the better of his desire for sleep, and he quietly knelt next to the sitting room door that had been left ajar. 

Caldwell listened to the sound of muffled sobbing and the soothing shush of his mother’s voice. Confused by the tone of the person crying, and alarmed that it might be his father (whom Caldwell had never seen cry a day in his life), the young boy tried slipping through the open door to get a better view. He wasn’t stealthy enough though, and accidentally bumped into the door, causing it to creak open another inch. Two heads turned to stare at him, one of them being his mother’s. The other one belonged to Ser Eduards.

Annie’s mother looked terrible. Her face was red and splotchy from crying, her hair was falling loose of it’s tie and sticking in odd directions, and her clothing was stained with dirt and splashes of something dark across her chest and stomach. Ser Eduards was on the couch next to his mother, and even though the woman was a filthy mess, his mother had her gathered in her arms as she had with her sons earlier. 

Ser Eduards barely seemed to see him, but his mother’s gaze sharpened and she ordered him to close the door, quickly! Caldwell did, then continued to slink along the wall towards the sideboard where his father’s tumbler of whiskey was stashed. Lord Trevelyan always used to pour himself a glass after a particularly harsh fight with his wife. The foul-smelling liquid always seemed to calm him down, so Caldwell assumed it worked like that for everyone.

He approached Annie’s mother with a small glass full of the honey-colored liquid, which she took from him with a watery smile. She took a single sip before setting it on the side table and turning back to Lady Trevelyan. 

“ _Mia luce,_ you must go back to bed.”

“Is Annie okay?” he asked. Ser Eduards hiccuped an aborted cry into her first, but said nothing. 

“Yes. No harm has come to Ser Eduard’s daughter,” his mother reassured him. “Now please, go ba…”

“You didn’t hear them!” the Knight-Captain shouted, jumping up from the couch and stalking over to the room’s only window. “The lies! Those bastards and their egos. It’s not enough that Nolin’s dead. They want her Tranquil. She’s a child, my lady. They can’t do that to a child!”

“Ser Eduards, please…” Caldwell’s mother gestured at the woman to return to the couch, but was ignored in favor of pacing in front of the closed window. “Take a moment for yourself. Come. My husband will never…”

“He did nothing! Nothing!” Annie’s mother shouted, even louder than before, but immediately curled in on herself where she stood. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I...he just…” 

“He did what?” Lady Trevelyan asked with ice in her voice. Caldwell shifted so that he wasn’t sitting directly next to his mother’s feet anymore, placing his back to the corner of the couch. That was the voice she used whenever she was about to start an argument with his father, and Caldwell wanted to be able to escape the room if she was going to have one with Annie’s mother.

“He didn’t help that much. Or at all. He spoke in favor of Nolin’s character, but...others in the room pointed out his bias. Nolin has been your personal healer for years. Someone insinuated that he may have...that all this time he could have had the Lord and Lady of the House...” 

Ser Eduard’s breathing had shortened to harsh pants, and her fists were white-knuckled, clenched as they were at her sides. She couldn’t seem to finish what she was saying, but Lady Trevelyan didn’t seem to need her to. Caldwell’s mother rose from her seat and strode over to grasp Ser Eduard’s arm in a punishing grip. 

Caldwell was stunned. He had never seen his mother act like that before. She was always full of calm words and champagne smiles, her quiet laughter bubbling over and filling whatever room she was in. Even when his parents fought, it was always his father who threw and smashed things. His mother’s words and disappointed looks cut deeper than any shard of broken glass. 

The physical contact was exactly what Annie’s mother needed, though. Ser Eduards stopped her pacing and locked eyes with Caldwell’s mother. The two women stood silently, their fury and frustration emanating in waves from their statuesque forms. Finally, Ser Eduards broke the silence. “He did nothing, my lady, after those accusations were made. I cannot presume to know the mind of your husband, but he did not even attempt to deny the possibility that Nolin could have had him enthralled. He stayed in his seat and was silent for the rest of the meeting.”

Lady Trevelyan nodded solemnly and led the Knight-Captain back to the sofa. “I cannot presume to know what he is thinking at this moment either. I promise you, though, that I will speak with him the moment he returns. We will not let them hurt your daughter. She has done nothing wrong.”

“I thought you said she’s okay!” Caldwell exclaimed from his spot on the floor. The women started, as though they’d forgotten he was there. “Mamma, _dobbiamo aiutarci!_ We gotta!” 

“No, little Lord, there is nothing you can do,” Ser Eduards tried to tell him, but Caldwell only had eyes for his mother at the moment. He waited while she pursed her lips in thought. 

“Just tell me what to do,” he pleaded, which seemed to make Ser Eduards sad again. Lady Trevelyan, though, smiled in pride at her boy and his determination to help his friend and her family.

“Caldwell,” his mother said, kneeling down at his level, “What I need, _mia luce,_ is for you to go back to bed. Your papà will be home soon. The three of us will decide how best to help your Annie. You can do that for me, yes?” 

“But…”

“When you go to bed,” Ser Eduards interjected, “Will you say a prayer? For Annie. I know it will make her feel better that someone is talking to the Maker about her, personally.”

Caldwell nodded reluctantly, completely aware of the asinine task that was meant to get him back to his bedroom. He could be patient and clever, though. Annie had shown him how. He bid both women goodnight and went back to his room. He said his prayer and lay in the dark, listening for the sounds of bodies moving and doors opening and closing. 

He had a plan all figured out. Even if he were to fall asleep before his father came home, he would be patient. He would listen and he would learn what the adults were going to do about all of this. When he figured it out, he would help, whether they wanted him to or not. When he finally could see Annie again, he would make sure that he could stand in front of her and tell her that he did everything in his power to help her. For that is what friends do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who haven't read "Of Victory Waiting...": Brianne is home alone with her father when noblemen break into their house to "escort" her to the Tower. A fight breaks out and Nolin is killed. Brianne is taken to the Chantry and locked up while the City Council figures out what to do. The noblemen are let off the hook because of their claims that Nolin was secretly a blood mage.


	3. The Armies of the Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten year old Caldwell takes his future into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The armies of the Maker marched to the heart of the Imperium.  
> They looked upon those gates guarded by the Juggernauts of old  
> And despaired, for surely neither army nor god could oppose such might.”  
> \--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, Andraste Prepares to Lay Siege to Minrathos

The door to Lord Trevelyan’s study made no sound as Cal opened it. He stood in the doorway, watching his father read correspondences and quickly pen replies. Now would be as good a time as any to talk to him about what had been on Cal’s mind for the last several weeks.

Caldwell made sure to close the door with a bit more force than he opened it, causing his father to glance up from his letters. “Afternoon, son,” he greeted, before looking back down to continue his work.

Caldwell approached his father’s desk and waited respectfully for him to finish what he was doing. His father looked up at Cal twice before he was done penning the response to whomever he was writing to. 

Suspicion was etched into the lines around his father’s eyes when he finally set the finished letter aside to level his middle child with the full force of his undivided attention.

“And what have you gotten yourself into now?”

Caldwell fought back a wince. He _was_ acting a bit out of character. Most ten year olds were not known for their patient, and Cal was as impatient and impulsive as his older brother was stalwart and focused. He should have come crashing into his father’s study, demanding of his father’s attention and time, as he normally does. 

There was nothing for it now. “I haven’t gotten into anything, ser. I swear.”

“Alright. What is it that has you so serious then?”

Cal took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back. “I don’t want to be a Chevalier anymore.”

His father sighed and reached for the top piece of parchment on a stack at the end of his desk. Cal waited for him to say something, but his father looked down at the parchment and began reading again.

“Ser?”

His father didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“I don’t want to be a Chevalier anymore.”

His father set the letter aside and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment from one of the desk drawers. “I heard you.”

Caldwell stayed put in front of the desk, waiting for the argument he expected to happen. His father picked up his raven-feather quill and began writing again. The two stayed in their stalemate for the entirety of the time it took Lord Trevelyan to write the response to whatever family member or ally he was corresponding with. 

When his father was done, he set the letter aide to be sealed later, and looked up at his son. Donovan raised a single eyebrow, lowered his head a centimeter or two, and reached again for his stack of letters.

Cal’s insides boiled and his fists clenched involuntarily. He _hated_ that look. That looks said, _You’re dismissed._ It said, _I am done with you taking up my valuable time._ It said, _I will always have the final word even if I’ve not said a thing._

Caspian had recently learned that look, and had tried to use it against his brother and little sister. Cal would not put up with anyone looking like that at him, especially smarmy older brothers that think they know best. Cal could barely tolerate his father looking at him like he’s dismissing a serving girl at a tavern.

“Don’t you want to hear what I’ve decided to be?” Cal growled.

“Alright. What have you decided to be?” his father humored, again without looking up from the new letter he was reading. 

“A Templar.”

The quality of the silence of the room shifted. It was now as tense as the silences that sometimes fell between his mother and father.

“Why in Andraste’s name do you want to be a Templar?” Lord Trevelyan scoffed while flexing his writing hand. “No. Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late, son. Everything was set in motion a long time ago. You’ll still be leaving for Val Royeaux in three years.”

“But I don’t want to!” Caldwell shouted. His father didn’t look up from his desk.

“Papà!” Cal stomped his foot and threw his hands out, angry at being ignored and completely aware that he had entered into the realm of tantrum-throwing. He could be shouting at a statue for all Lord Trevelyan acknowledged him, and Cal stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Caldwell blindly walked into his brother and mother as they were heading out of the house. His mother could immediately see that something was wrong, and stalled their outing to ask him about it.

“I told papà about being a Templar, and he ignored me! Said it was too late. I know it’s not. He doesn’t care about what I want at all!”

His mother looked on sadly as he continued to rail against his father and the stupid plans that Caldwell got no say in creating, until Caspian cut him off with an aggravated noise and the order to, _Stop whining and grow up._

Before he knew what was happening, Caldwell had shoved his brother against the front door, then was taking off at a sprint down the hallway as his mother shouted something at him that his mind chose not to hear. 

The middle Trevelyan hid in his sister’s nursery at the other end of the house. She was about to turn four and still spent an enviable amount of time sleeping. He crept into her room and found her awake in her bed, tossing her favorite doll around. 

Laurynn’s nanny was sitting in the corner chair, knitting another Maker-awful baby nightgown. She nodded at Caldwell once, then proceeded to ignore him. He didn’t mind being ignored by her. 

Laurynn spotted her big brother and immediately dropped her beaten up doll. She threw her chubby arms out and cried, “Cow! Up, up!”

Cal smiled at the butchering of his name and picked her up. She cooed and snuggled into him as he sat down on the floor with his back to her bed. 

“I wish papà loved me as much as you do, Wren.”

“Love you, Cow,” she echoed.

“Love you too, sis.” Calwell gave her an excessively loud and wet kiss on her temple, which caused her to squeal and fail to get away from him. He set her down on her feet and watched at she tried to climb back into her bed to retrieve her forgotten doll.

“Why won’t he let me be a Templar?” he asked his sister. She didn’t answer him, but made a noise of frustration when she realized she wasn’t going to be able to reach her doll, no matter how hard she tried. 

“I know how you feel,” Cal told her as he stood and got it down for her. “Nothing I’ve done’s every mattered. There’s always a plan I have to stick to. I’m not the heir! Why can’t I do what I want? It’s not like I want bad things. Templars are noble. I’m a noble. It should be fine.”

“Sad?” Laurynn asked, hitting him in the arm with her doll. 

“Ow!” It hadn’t really hurt, but it was always fun playing with her. Her eyes grew larger and rounder, and she looked so concerned that she might have hurt him. He used the distraction to steal her doll and run to the other side of the room with it.

She squealed in indignation and took off after him. 

“Can’t catch me!” he called out, and took off into the hallway. He led her on a merry chase around the manor, but made sure to stay close enough so that he could be there if it seemed like she was going to run into something.

He finally let her catch him when they got to the gardens. She was breathing heavily, both from exertion and from making noises at him while running. “You’re so fast, Wren,” he told her as he relinquished her toy. She squeezed the doll violently, then dropped it in the dirt to sit beside him in the manicured grass.

“No sad,” she ordered, poking him in the stomach. “Cow temper.”

“Cow temper?” he laughed. “What?”

“Cow be temper. Papà’s mean. Cow temper. Cow’s da best!”

He realized what she was trying to say, and in order to fight off tearing up at his sister’s display of devotion, he picked her up, hung her upside down, and swung her around in a circle.

“You’re right. I _am_ going to be a Templar, and I’ll be the best.”

Cal carried her back inside to where the nanny was watching them. He set Laurynn down in the chair next to the woman and marched back to his father’s study.

He didn’t knock or call out before he entered. He didn’t bow or wait patiently for his father to finish his business. Cal threw open the door, planted himself in front of his father’s desk, and began issuing proclamations.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time, and I’ve decided that I’m not going to be a Chevalier anymore. I know that was the plan, but it has to change. I don’t want to be a Chevalier. I want to be a Templar. I can do more good as a Templar. I don’t want to fight in tourneys and travel the world. I want to protect people. I want to help. I’ve been talking to Sister Ethyl and Knight-Lieutenant Yasser. I _know_ I can do more good as a Templar. I was trying to be nice and get your blessing, but I don’t care anymore. I am going to the Chantry and I will stay there until they accept me, even if I have to camp outside every night. And I won’t come back.”

His father sighed. “Son…”

“No. You can’t talk me out of it, and you’ll have to lock me in my room to keep me from leaving.”

Lord Trevelyan looked thunderous to be interrupted in such a way. Cal made sure to stay strong, even though he was quaking inside in the face of his father’s anger. 

Caldwell had never done anything like this before. Sure, he was wild and impulsive, mischievous and carefree, but he wasn’t very brave. He had always buckled under the authority of his parents, his tutors, and the Chantry. 

His father needed to see this display. His father needed to see his certainty and confidence. No one was going to sway Caldwell from the course he had charted from himself. 

What Cal wasn’t telling his father was that he also thought he could help with the anti-mage sentiment that had cropped up since Enchanter Lochland’s death. Cal’s mother insisted that the people who were being the most vocal about the evils of magic had always been there, they just hadn’t been brave enough to voice their opinions for everyone to hear until now. Cal didn’t like the stories he had heard of what was happening in other Circles around Thedas. Annie was out in the world somewhere, possibly in one of those Circles. He had made a promise to both her and the Maker that he would do everything in his power to help her, and Caldwell Trevelyan always kept his promises. 

He might not have been able to do anything to help Annie and her mother, but by Andraste’s ashes he would do something to help all the other mages. 

Cal’s father sat silently, staring intently at his son. Cal could feel his father’s gaze sweep over him, gauging how serious Cal actually was. Caldwell must have passed scrutiny, for Donovan stood up and came around his desk to stand at the windowsill that looked out into the western part of the garden. He gestured for Cal to join him, which his son did.

“You can help people as a Chevalier, you know.”

“Not like a Templar could. I’d spend ages as a squire, carrying around bags and taking care of horses. Then I’d have to prove myself in tourneys and find a patron. And then what? There’s no wars other than what’s always going on in Tevinter. I don’t want to go north. I want to help here.”

His father spent another long stretch of silence looking out of the window. Cal fidgeted beside him, but stayed put.

“I’ve already made promises. Paid money. Called in favors. You’re going to cost me those things, along with several connections.”

“I can make more in the Chantry,” Cal pointed out. “If I go to Val Royeaux. The Divine’s there, along with the Knight-Vigilants and the Seekers. I’ll earn back what I cost the family.”

He saw the ghost of a smile flash across his father’s serious face. “That’s one of the traps of nobility: learning to think of everything in terms of value. My son…” His father turned to him and pulled the startled boy into a one armed hug. “Your value does not lie in what you can or cannot bring to this family. Go get your coat and alert the stablehands.”

His father released him as quickly as he grabbed him. “My coat?”

Lord Trevelyan grinned at his youngest boy. “We have a Knight-Commander to visit.”


End file.
